


Queen of Hell

by amicalement



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 23:08:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amicalement/pseuds/amicalement
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a coda fic for 8.22. Very gory, so keep that in mind!! (Also, I love Abaddon. A lot.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queen of Hell

She had to sew her hands back on. The first was excruciatingly slow, her mouth helping the other dismembered hand along with the stitching. Abaddon allowed herself a small, satisfied grin as she knotted off the thread with a pull from the grip of her teeth. 

She then tested the strength of her hands, small exercises to see how much force they could withstand. The stitches were then doubled, after a few broken links occurred, and though she couldn't say she was completely back to full capacity, it was enough to get her started on her mission. 

Crowley was the goal. Well, his guts, if she were being completely honest. 

\--

The wonderful part about it was that she didn't even have to catch the slippery eel. Not that it would have been hard, and a small part of her was disappointed to be denied the thrill of the chase, but there was a gratifying sense of having a fish already laid out on the chopping board, gaping with large and frightened glass eyes, ready to be butchered. 

Funny. Abaddon loathed hunters and Men of Letters alike by this point, but she could appreciate their savor for the kill, the victory of battle. In the end, every soldier was a soldier, save for his banner. 

The Knight of Hell herself had fallen with a banner streaming loyalty for Lucifer, Bringer of Light. Now that same banner was soaked red, and proclaimed allegiance only for herself. 

This Knight was going to take what should belong to her. 

She knew when she was close. Abaddon could sense the snail within the metal walls of the shed without even trying. 

Wonderful. 

\--

"You and I are going to talk about a regime change."

She took the Winchester brothers by surprise and, as always, with a smirk. The smaller one was closest and reacted more quickly, grabbing for his gun. 

He didn't have anything to remark on this time, now that she was out of her shackles. Her arm shot out, lightning fast over his face, shielding his vision. 

"You're not who I came for," she stated with a blunt tone as she grabbed for the gun with her other hand. His hand scrabbled on the jagged edge of her sewn up wrist, and if she hadn't been anything but demon, it would have been a distraction. 

As it stood, she grabbed hold of the boy's wrist, wrenching it backwards until she heard a crack. Good. 

The taller kid was stumbling behind her and somehow caught her off guard, wrenching her head back by her hair and snapping a few stitches on her neck. 

She let go of the wrist she was holding, turning around with her mouth curled into a feral grin. 

He was quite weak, she could tell. Much more so than when they first met. The warrior's body responded more quickly than her thoughts as her right hand curled into a fist, propelling itself toward the stomach of the man. 

The punch connected. The impact ground the clumsily cut edges of her arm and wrist together, but she paid no mind. Stepping out from between the two of the men, she grabbed the darker haired by the shoulders swiftly and threw him forward and into the wall of the shed. 

She was certain that his already fragile state would cause him to pass out from the impact, though she gave herself no chance to look. 

The next thing she knew, a kick was aimed at her back. She turned around to see the one whose wrist she had broken, glaring at her with murder in his eyes. 

"How rude. I can promise you it'll take more than that." Abaddon rushed him, grabbing onto his head with both hands before he could react and ran him into the wall. The boy's skull slammed against the metal wall with a loud, dull clang, and repeated itself in increasing volume as she upped her velocity several times. 

After four slams, she was done. The two were out cold, ready to kill later. 

The Knight of Hell let her arms fall to her sides, contentment with even this small victory filling her body and allowing her to smile. Now came the fun part. 

She turned slowly, squaring her shoulders and standing ramrod straight in the way that many practices of balancing books had given her vessel. Never mind the fact that her body was now riddled with scars and patched up like a bad rendition of a Mel Brooks horror movie. 

Abaddon felt powerful, and it gave her a regal air. 

She walked slowly and purposefully up to Crowley, shackled to a metal chair, practically quaking in his boots. 

"Is this what Hell has been reduced to? Electing some simple salesmen for their... Leader? If that's even what you truly are. I was under the impression kings were to wear crowns," the warrior sneered. 

"Even factory workers can become millionaires, darling. It's a new age." Crowley rasped, his effort at nonchalance commendable, but belied by the fear apparent in his wide eyes. 

"I have to agree. If yellow-bellied dogs can crawl their way to the top, then I guess things really have changed." She flashed her teeth. "But if simple-minded cur is capable of that... I wonder what a snake can do?"

Crowley gulped, beyond unnerved. 

"Look, what would you like, I mean you practically have me at gunpoint here--" he wheedled, desperation coloring his tone. If she squinted she could see his tail, tucked between his legs and flat along his belly. 

"Oh, sweetheart," she mocked with a saccharine overtone, her eyes showing a hard undercurrent of abhorrence. "I don't want anything from you. I've learned some things since I've fallen, and chief among those is the fact that either human or demon or angel, males will always manage to make a mess of everything when they're given free reign."

The red-haired demon laughed, the pitch reedy and humorless. 

"You're all ruled by your penises. Whether it's lust for gold, lust for blood, lust for skin... Lust for power, in your case. Always driven by that same instinct to screw everything into the ground."

Her eyes glinted suddenly and she surged forward, thrusting her hand finger-tip first into his neck. 

"You, above all, never deserved to rule. I can assure you of that."

Crowley choked and sputtered, useless blood spilling out of the wound and his gaping mouth to coat Abaddon's arm a dark crimson. 

She grinned viciously, face speckled with the mongrel's blood. He was wheezing now, though not dead. This champion wanted the proclaimed king to suffer. 

Grabbing hold of his trachea, she squeezed once, a violent jolt. She let go, slowly tearing through layers of skin messily, ripping muscles into strings and easily navigating through pools of fat and blood. 

Finally reaching his chest through the hoarse gasps that made up his screams, she reached for the ribs that God had once so lovingly made. Her fingers closed tight around the bone, grinding the marrow back into ash from whence it came. 

And then, the pump, no longer cradled by the ribcage. Abaddon curled around the organ, slowly pulling the arteries and veins free from their connections. 

What a wonderful kill. She reveled in the sheer violence of it all, the deliberate ripping apart. 

Slowly, slowly, the knight gripped the heart and continued to move her fist down in a line, past Crowley's waist, his stomach, pushing other organs up and out of the way. She continued methodically in this way until she had made a cavern starting from the top of his neck to the edge of his groin. 

The battle was over, and the victory won with the vessel of the begging king laid out, shackled to an old and rusty throne. 

"The King is dead. Long live the Queen."

**Author's Note:**

> Abaddon is queen in my heart.


End file.
